


Name: Laura

by kl1989



Series: The Best Part of Believe.... [1]
Category: Original Work, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers are only mentioned in this one, Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-03-09 19:59:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kl1989/pseuds/kl1989
Summary: I remember someone saying all it takes is one bad day....After her best friend announces he's moving, Laura throws her heart and soul into practicing for her violin solo. As an antisocial, she's prepared to live in a comfortable non-interactive lifestyle for the rest of middle school- and her life. But after a mishap concerning some stolen Stark tech, she's about to be connected to the world in a whole new way. Luckily she has the right people to help her..."enjoy" this new experience. And learn some new things along the way.This is a rewrite of the Avengers MCU up to Endgame. With some additional modifications as you can see.





	1. Mundane

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of Avenger MCU up to Endgame. For chronological sanity let's say that Thor happened before or at the same time as Iron Man. In this story there are only Avengers references, but in future stories they'll definitely be in there.
> 
> Also, this is my first fanfic. So please be kind to me and to each other.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers or Marvel.

 

 

_ I was created from hatred. _

_ Crafted out of fear, out of resentment, _

_ On a cold, red day. _

_ Set to inherit power and use it- _

_ To destroy. _

_ I was born from a bad thought, _

_ And raised on a good one. _

 

 

 

_ RIIIIIIIIING!!!!!! _

 

_ Ugh. Morning. _

 

Why is it that we hate the things we need the most? As kids, we refuse to eat our vegetables, despite our parents- the first people we learn to trust- tell us they’re good for us. The teenage versions of ourselves don’t fair any better. Our amygdalas yell at us to do the most idiotic, dangerous,  _ self destructive _ things possible just for kicks. Fuck self preservation instincts. I’m not an adult yet- not even a teenager- but I can safely assume by our government that adults definitely don’t know what’s good for them.

 

Don’t get me wrong, if someone is threatening you, by all means attack. Just know where to aim your missiles first.  _ I’m talking to you Mr.Stark and President. _

 

_ RIIIIIIIIING!!!!!! _

 

Which brings me back to the present. Alarm clocks. Nobody likes then, but they're necessary. Annoyingly loud alerts ringing in the morning. Makes me want to just---

 

_ RIIII- SMACK _

 

**_Better._ **

 

I get up from my bed and slouch over to the bathroom. My morning routine is something I’ve done so many times, it’s one of the  _ many _ things I can confidently say I can do in my sleep. Everything is placed in an order that makes sense to only me. Toothbrush next to toothpaste in the bottom shelf that sticks out from behind the mirror cabinet so the air can dry up the remaining water. Hairbrush in the upper right corner because my arm is already up to brush a hand through my curly hair first thing in the morning- might as well make it work harder and reach up to equate the movement to a stretch.  _ Ha, like I exercise _ .

 

In a nutshell, it’s an organized mess. Like me.

 

“Laura come down- breakfast is ready!”

 

Most mothers are either very nice and warm and welcoming, or strict as hell. My mom, Angie, is more like a hipster Asian teenager that never bothered with the cool crew. She dresses with zero sense in style and works as a grant writer for non profit organizations. In her free time you can find her lip syncing to 90s music on the radio when she thinks no one’s around. Fun fact: she adopted me during one of her trips to Italy, helping Ghana citizens gain Italian citizenship. She tells me my birth mother was from Ghana, fell in love with an Italian man after crossing the Mediterranean. They were supposed to marry to give her citizenship, but some tragic accident happened to my birth father and she was too affected by it to care for me. She died shortly after, “content her daughter won’t be suffering for things she had no control over,” Angie said. 

 

I didn’t understand it.

 

Nevermind the fact that Angie won’t tell me what tragic accident happened. Car crash, murder, alien abduction…. whatever. My question is- why would you be so devastated that you literally  _ die _ afterwards. How does that even happen? Was my birth mother a drug addict, alcoholic? No, she was just sad.  _ And what else! _ Sadness doesn’t lead to death. It’s just an emotion. A “broken heart” is just a figurative term people use to describe the body’s natural response to sadness. A broken heart never killed anyone. 

 

Half an hour later, I showered, dressed and was flying down the stairs. I almost missed my dog Penny resting on the last step. Quick reflexes allowed me to skip that step and jump down to the bottom. Penny had a tendency to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But she made up for it by being adorably clueless about it- even though Angie and I knew she knew what she was doing.  _ Little brat.  _

 

“I gotta leave in 10 so hurry up,” Angie said. Breakfast- as usual- was a mess. Bagel bag was open, as well as the cream cheese and spice containers. Milk splats were on the counter from Angie’s previous attempts at being neat while making coffee--  _ get a coffee maker already! No I like to make things while I think--  _ and a simple black porcelain bowl was left on the counter for me to with as I please.

“10 minutes? Huh should’ve called our butler to make an omelet with a frappe,”I say.

"Why didn't you?" Angie asks

"He was busy cleaning our pool, I didn't want to rush him," I answer. 

Angie lets out chuckle, "First of all, we don't know how to swim, so why would we own a pool? Secondly, since when do you care about others feelings?" 

She's right. I'm a harsh person on default and easily annoyed at the slightest things. But I also have the least understandable type of humor, the kind that only 0.8% of the world's population understood. Luckily Angie was a part of that percent. 

“5 minutes!” said person was now scrambling. Multi-tasking was a thing in our house. Angie was taking bites of her cream cheese and bagel while filling up Penny’s bowl with food. I was cleaning up the counter while taking bites of my cereal every time I passed the black bowl. My bag and lunch were already packed from the night before, so I scrambled to grab them both and run out the door after Angie. 12 minutes later the car was started and Angie was zooming down the streets of Brooklyn to my school. It took five minutes to drive to my school, but she had meeting in 15 minutes-- all the way in Manhattan.

 

“How is it that we always prepare our stuff the night before, but always end up rushing anyway?” I wonder out loud.

 

“Don’t question it, just put up with it,” was my answer.

  
  
  



	2. S.C.H.O.O.L

I always had to prepare myself mentally for school. Not because I was nervous about the classes or people. I just reallly hated it.  The thought of having to interact with people to better your character is bullcrap. The school board seperates people based on their intelligance capacity, then wonder why some students in lower level classes aren’t improving when all their life they’ve been told “you’re below average”. Then the tests, all the damn tests! Who in their right minds would think that the only way to help a student gain a good work ethic and an interest in learning was to give them so many tests! If the goal is to make them believe that nobody cares about anything concerning you besides your grades on exams, congrats it’s been done!

 

Of course I shouldn’t be the one complaining. I go to an accelerated middle school accredited for its esteemed students that excel in Regeants exams. But I am complaining. Because I need to put with this sort of incompentence on a day to day basis. 

 

Walking into homeroom, I immediately spot my sort-of-best friend/ most tolerable person in the world, Damian, or Damy as I call him to get on his nerves. He rarely speaks--which is a plus for me-- but is obsessed with his Nintendo DS, which he sneaks into school without the knowledege of his parents or staff. He gives a small wave to me, idly doodling an anime picture in the corner of his book that made me wonder how long he was drawing it to make it look that good. 

 

“Shouldn’t you be reading?” I whisper. Our homeroom teacher Ms.Felix was a menace in the school community. She was a woman from Guyana, that spoke with a British accent, and taught Spanish. Yeah. Only the advanced students were in her classes, and only my class had her as a homeroom teacher. Her strict rules included, but were not limited to; no talking or eating in class, speaking only in Spanish to her, if you have no work to do then you are reading, only reading can be done in homeroom, no bathroom breaks near the beginning or end of class, and no other work besides Spanish is done in class. Anyone who breaks these rules will serve detention. Did I mention her room is also the detention room?

 

Still, even with the occasional insult about our homework or un-neat uniforms-- _ What is this caca! _ \--  or the few students a year who cry because they can’t take the heat of the lion’s den, it can’t be denied that you learn spanish under her teachings. And what it would be like if you were in the military. 

 

Damy shrugs in response, his shaved blonde head faced downwards; I guess he was having a bad day. Eh, he’ll talk when he wants to. I take out my own book, a big collection of Sherlock Holmes short stories Angie gave me for my birthday, and stand it up so that it blocks Ms.Felix’s view of Damy’s book where he’s doodling. I had to lean on my side a little, but I could always pass it off as me being tired. It was so quiet in the class you could hear a pin drop. The door was still open in the hallway, so we could hear noise from the other homerooms. A normal person’s reaction would be jealousy, how come they get to have fun? But I was actually happy. Reading was something I do on a daily basis, course it’s less fun when someone’s telling you to do it, but I’d take that over, ugh….  _ Interacting. _

 

Damy gets me. He says it should be illegal for someone to talk directly to you without permission. Let alone invade your personal space. 

 

Ms. Felix does the attendance like a tyrant doing role call for war. Then as soon as bell rings, we all rush out to get to our first class. Music.

 

Surprsingly enough, I love music. Playing the violin in elementary was a form of therapy for me. Ever since I could remember, my mind was always jumpy, sporadic. My thoughts weren’t on a train, they were on a rollercoaster. Moods didn’t just swing- they bounced, hopped, skipped, and somersaulted. But the soothing sound of a violin was sort of like a grounding thing for me. The sounds were enough to stop everything in my head to a standstill, so I could just listen...and revel in that one sound. And blessed silence. Call me crazy, but it reminded me of a voice I heard once. From another lifetime, almost.

Our music teacher was lovely too. Ms. Kranzler, or Ms.K, is a hippie in business clothes to put in the most basic sense. Kind, and accomadable, but strict with her rules. I always thought it was impossible to be kind and mean until I meant her. She also teaches the school orchestra, of which I’m first chair in, and we’re performing at the school’s Spring Fling before the break. This week in class, she’s teaching the violin.  _ Wonderful. _

 

“Good morning class!” Ms. K greets, “I hope everyone had a great weekend! Lets’s pick up a violin and begin.” She looks at me and gives me a small smile, aware of my dislike to small talk, before raising her hand and clearing her thoat loudly to get everyone to get quiet down. And it works. Because we’ve seen her mad, and  _ it’s scary to see a woman that nice turn mad. _

 

I sit next to Dami after I pick up a violin, tucked it under my chin and grabbed the bow he passed me. I pressed the bow to the strings. Then my mind went  _ silent. _

  
  



	3. Abrupt

_ “I’m moving” _ were the first words I heard during lunch. 

 

After half a day of sitting next to Damy’s welcomed silence-- we were partners in every class; english, algebra, earth science, global history--  _ this  _ is what I’ve been waiting for? An invitation to a life without Dummy.

 

_ What do you mean you’re moving,  _ would be the first question for anyone else. But why? The phrase,  _ I’m moving  _ was understood probably on a global scale, so why would you need someone to explain the definition of a phrase you easily understand and hate? 

 

Plus, Damy was a pretty blunt person. Similar to me but to an extent. He didn’t like to think too much on things because, as always,  _ I’m too lazy.  _ If life went his way, he would stay in his parent’s basement and play videogames for the rest of his life while living off of ramen noodles and pizza and not get scurvy. It’s not that he lacks ambition, because that’s a subjective term, he just has better things to do than school. But alas…   
  


“Where are you going?” I say instead.  Another shrug.

 

“Middle of nowhere Pennsylvania,” he answers. “That’s good,” I answer. “You’re parents can drive.” Plenty of people can drive to NYC from Pennsylvania.

 

“My parents don’t want to, it can’t work with their new schedules”  _ Oh.  _

 

As I sit there in the corner of cafeteria with my friend, the constant buzzing of chatter becomes background music to what will be the first of many bad moments in my life. Then I saw it. Tears.  _ Damian was crying. _ And not full on sobbing like the movies. It was quiet, emotionless. Hopeless. And I being the smart girl I am, was clueless on how to handle it. But Damy kept going, and his green eyes kept crying

 

“I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go to a new school. I don’t, I don’t..” Up until now he was focusing his blue eyes down at the dark screen of his nintendo. It occured to me he never even turned it on, or touched his food by the looks of his lunch. Which makes sense. If there’s one thing Damy hated, it was change. I’ve seen him where the same shoes everyday till the soles were flapping off-- then he just duct taped them on again. His parents told him countless times to “ _ stop dressing like you’re poor” _ .  Coming to middle school was a hassle for him. Before we met he use to sit by the window in every class because he told me that’s where he use to sit in his elementary class. 

 

“I don’t want to leave you,”

 

Now he sits wherever I sit. 

 

“Umm…” well this is new. I rarely, more like never, encounter emotional problems. That’s why I’m friends with Damian. He’s suppose to be emotional problem free. Key Term  _ suppose to be _ .

 

“Can we go somewhere else?” Again, Damy takes charge. “Sure,” I answer and we go to the library. There we sit on one of the bean bags in the corner and Damy takes out the second nintendo he keeps with him in case he loses the first. He wordlessly passes it to me and we tag team as Captain America and Bucky in a battle against Red Skull. We don’t bring it up again. But it stays in our minds. 

 

I learn from some prodding that Damy’s parents are moving in three weeks because of a job. Some new company that makes biotechnology is based in Lancaster and they’re interested in his parents’ work. Big salary involved too. I could understand Damy’s disdain, why choose money over happiness? But also, his parents have been struggling to find companies that would fund them. From what I understand, their line of work in biotechnology is new.  _ Very new,  _  Damy says. And he leaves it at that. Huh.

 

At least he’ll be able to see my performance at the Spring Fling. He likes to see me play. 

 

I focus on that going home, but the whole weight of the situation doesn’t hit me until Angie asks me how was my day. Penny jumps down from the couch to do her ‘celebratory dance’ of another human being home and my mom is looking at me with that concerned look on her face. I’m both aware and unaware of what happens next.

 

While I try to formulate words on how my day actually went, the unconscious part of my brain is realizing this may be one of the last times I say “Damy and I” and that….. 

 

I don’t know how to comprehend that. 

 

But it didn’t matter. My body was on autopilot again and Angie was already up, pulling me into her arms and drying my tears.

 

“It’s ok Laura, whatever it is everything’s gonna be ok.”

  
  



	4. Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Stark tech

I explain to her the whole situation while doing my homework. The problems on the pages are insignificant compared to the problems in my head.  _ Why doesn’t school prepare us for things like that? You’re more likely to encounter something like a best friend leaving in life than a problem about slope. _

 

No amount of consolidation in the world could help me, Angie knew that. Still, she sat and listened, even though I told her she should be writing a draft of her next grant. 

 

“It’s not as important as you,” was her response.

 

“You should’ve been a teacher,” I answer back. She doesn’t get it, but I like that she leaves it be. 

 

Afterwards she goes to make hot cocoa, much needed in this cold weather. April brings showers, true, but did they need to be freezing cold rain droplets?

 

“Looks like there’s gonna be storm. Flood warnings’ already gone up,” Angie says. She drops a mug of hot coco in front of me as I practice my violin solo for Spring Fling. Penny stares at me with a bored expression on her face. As I hear the sweet song playing from the strings my eyes drift to the tv screen showing an image of New Mexico, before it goes back to news anchor. Huh.

 

A wrong note pulls me away from reality again. I huff, frustrated that I can’t get past that part of the song. I want to get it right, especially if Dami is leaving so soon. A good parting gift is a good last memory of someone, or so Angie tells me. 

 

The rain doesn’t let up. And as we sleep halfway through the night, the lights went out. Probably from a lightning strike,  _ but that bang was pretty loud.  _ Unable to go back to sleep, I get up and go downstairs. Something told me to look by the windows, and for once instead of questioning it, I went next to the tv where the windows were and looked out on the street. 

 

Outside on the street was a vague picture of a black car- a truck- on it’s side, something like metal and lights, tech?, on the street. At least it look like it from my water covered window. Luckily it didn’t hit our apartment, but it did seem pretty close to our wiring. Our building was next to a power pole, not the most safe. But even worse was that our wiring hung low from the poles and building, low enough that people have to be careful of a stray wiring escaping from the bundle that was wrapped above their heads. And with wind and rain going on there were some loose wires. 

 

From where I stood in the living room I could see only one truck, so it probably skid on the slippery roads. Ha, even a car accident couldn’t wake Angie-- a morbid joke but a joke nonetheless.  _ She could sleep through the Apocalypse.  _ But as my mind went on, I failed to notice some sparks  _ travelling up and up the wiring, like the moving spirit. Till it hits the building. _

 

_ Then the T.V I stand behind. _

_ And everything turns white. _

 

**_And the last thing I hear is a scream._ **

  
  



	5. Blank

“And a terrifying event happened last night in Red Hook in Brooklyn. An unmarked truck travelling through the streets at night carrying some kind of advanced technology swerved on the slippery roads and crashed on the sidewalk of apartment building 302. The loose wiring on the building caught the sparks flying off the tech after the crash and then neighbors said they heard a huge bang happen in one of the apartments. A young girl was rushed out of the building shortly after to New York Methodist Hospital in stable condition. No information yet on if anyone else was hurt and as of now there have been no eyewitnesses. More to come on this story soon. I’m Amy Goldern and this is 1010 Wins”

 

The only thing worse than not knowing what happened, is knowing what happened and forcing yourself to see the results. Even though every part of your body is begging you to close your eyes for a little bit longer. I got this feeling waking up in a hospital bed, bright white all around me again.  _ I’m starting to get a little anxious about this color.  _

 

I just want someone to tell me about the concussion, maybe some bumps and bruises, then Angie comes in and says “don’t ever scare like that again ok,” and then I stay another 24 hours for “monitoring purposes” and I’m out. Seriously, why is everything so quiet?

 

Angie is in my peripheral and I open my mouth to ask her what’s up. But my throat was too dry and so she rushed up to give me a glass of water. Of course, her are were red, makeup gone and black hair pulled up in a messy bun, so I chose to ignore it. After I swallow, my throat feels better. So I open my mouth to speak. 

 

And then the scariest moment of the day arrived. I felt my lips move, felt my voice in my throat, but  _ heard no sound. _

 

I tried again, and again, and again, and again. Until I was crying, sobbing, screaming,  _ everything.  _ It was loud and hysterical because I didn’t care. I couldn’t hear it anyways.

 

_ I couldn’t hear anything. _

 

When I calmed down, Angie passed me a piece of paper. I just skimmed it, too exhausted to read.  _ Asleep for the whole day. Investigation...truck driver….Doctor….brain scan, temporal lobe is partially inactive. Don’t know when you’ll be able to hear….or if.  _  I didn’t think that was possible, but somehow I just felt more scared. Looking back up at her, I noticed her... mouthing something… over and over again… _ I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry… _

 

The doctor comes in and he talks mainly to Angie, who’s curled up around me on the bed. 

 

Angie POV

 

I didn’t know what happened. All I heard was a scream and Penny barking like crazy, then the first thing that came to my mind was Laura. I grabbed the baseball bat under my pillow and rushed out of the room only to see Laura,  _ my Laura,  _  knocked out cold on the floor with blood starting to pool beneath her head. 

Everything else was blur. The next thing I knew I was sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, watching a news story on _ my home _ .

 

I called my latest client, told them the details to get the extension on the grant, then camped out in her hospital room just waiting for her to wake up. The doctor told me she suffered a bump on her head, then showed me a brain scan, explaining how my daughter will wake deaf and potentially be deaf for the rest of her life. So as I gave myself a good 10 minute cry, then I planned out with the doctor what to do when she woke up, how to explain it to her, what to expect, what the rehabilitation and therapy will be like…. _ what to do now that she doesn’t have music… _

 

I planned it out, yet nothing could prepare me for the moment I heard her full on screaming-- curly hair flattened out, light brown skin blotchy and red, her brown mischievous eyes now looked so hopeless. All I could was try to hold her, but then she’d just thrash her arms out. So I settled for more waiting, handing her the note, and mouthing I’m so sorry.

 

The doctor came in, a whiteboard in hand, and explained to us everything that will happen from here on out. A sign language teacher will be meeting with us in a few days. Some therapy places in case Laura might need it, and she will, then a schedule of all the check ups we need to do to monitor her progress.

 

Laura just gave a blank stare. 

 

I fixed up the house while she was in the hospital. Made all of her favorite food and bought her all the latest mystery and horror novels.  Hopefully that blank stare will be gone when she’s settled in. We haven’t talked about school yet. I don’t think she would want to. 

 

Too much has happened in one day already.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I lost track of time...


	6. Enlightment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'll add two chapters instead. Trigger warnings ahead for anyone who is or knows someone deaf...

5 days later...

Time was nonexistent to Laura. She would come out of her head, notice the outside world, then go back into her thoughts- if there were any. The only thing Angie was certain of was the blank stare Laura would give to everything, including her. And her silence. 

It was the most scary thing Angie has ever seen. 

Laura’s mind was always loud. You could hear it in the scrib scrib scribbling of her pen as she did homework. The drumming of her fingers as she waited for pages to load on her laptop. Her footsteps- loud and uncaring when she was in a mood, quiet and measured when she was thinking- echoing in hallways. She’d always have a tranquil look on her face, with calculations shining through the mirror of her eyes. 

Now it was all quiet. Nothing was happening, or being watched by careful eyes. The world went on and a little girl in a Brooklyn apartment was quiet as a mouse.

She wasn’t all there during her lessons either. It took her longer to learn, which Angie knew was a sign of her not wanting to do it, but what could she do?

If there was another way…..

Damy was calling her phone non stop. 30 missed calls in the first two days. On the third day, Angie called him to tell him the news. 

“I’m sorry, but uh… Laura can’t answer the phone now,” Angie started. In all of her planning, she didn’t plan on how to tell Damy about her… situation. Not problem, situation.

“When can I call her back?” Damy asked.

“No, no, no, you misunderstood,” Angie was scrambling. How do you tell a boy his best friend is deaf? “Angie can’t answer the phone, for awhile,” then in a lower voice she said, “if ever”.

“Oh my god...is she...is she dead?!”

“What- NO! How did you get death from-”

“In acoma? Sleeping? Please tell me she’s sleeping, I won’t be able to sleep tonight if she’s doing anything but sleeping- the news told me she was in stable condition- does acoma fall under stable condition?-”

“DAMY!”

“Yeah?”

Angie took a breath. Here goes nothing…

“Laura is deaf.”

It was quiet on the line for a bit. Angie could tell he didn’t hang up, there was a gaming theme song in the background. But that got muted, or lowered.Then a teary sound came over the line. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. If I planned it out it would have been better, but… a few days ago there was an accident involving a truck carrying Stark technology. It crashed on the street and messed with our wiring and somehow go to our apartment only where Laura was watching,” Angie took a breath. She was babbling now but she didn’t care. “And she was behind the tv then the tv sparked an explosion… that she was in,” She could hear Damy crying on the other end of the line. “The doctor said it’s rare for people to become deaf from an electric shock, but you know Laura,” Angie joked. She had to make joke or else she would be in tears too and that wouldn’t do in a time like this. Damy needed her. Laura needed her.

“She had to go and prove ‘em wrong.” 

“I wish she didn’t.” Damy answered. “What are you doing now?”

Angie shrugged, before she realized that Damy couldn’t see her. “I just informed the school. We’re getting a new teacher. Learning sign language. Visiting the doctor. Gonna sign her up for therapy soon.” She got up and peered upstairs into the dark bedroom where she knew Laura was pretending to sleep, but wasn’t.

“Has the doctor talked about hearing aids yet?” Damy asked

Angie froze. Here she was, in white stained pajamas sitting on her staircase, her daughter’s cell phone in hand and talking to said daughter’s best friend. Secretly moaning in despair about her daughter’s situation and future, trying to come up with ways to cope.

Why didn’t she think of ways to solve? Because that’s Laura’s department.

“No,” Angie lied, but the gears in her mind were already turning. “No he hadn’t. We thought it was best to let her be for now before we jump into anything.”

“She’s being depressed,” Damy said. Angie cringed- she shouldn’t have mentioned therapy. 

“Yes, we’ve let her be and now we’re going to get her tested.” At this point, Angie needed a laptop yesterday. “I’ll talk to you later Damy. Bye!” Ignoring the protesting voice on the other end, she hung up and ran to the living room. 

It was time to do some research…


	7. Dysthymia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my tenses have been mixed up, I'm working on it. Also, trigger warning for depression....

Laura POV

 

Angie was acting strange. She would spend all of her time on the laptop, doing more scrolling than typing. I knew because I would look at her from over the laptop and see one hand under her chin or twirling a string of dyed hair, instead of two hands disappearing on the keyboard. 

 

**What’s up with you?** I would write to her.  **Nothing.** She writes back. Sign language was still new to us. 

 

Now here we are. In front of a receptionist at our  otolaryngologist (ear doctor). I didn’t know what was going on. Okay, that’s a lie. I may have had some idea, but I refused to believe it until it happened. I couldn’t bother myself to even think about school, the spring fling,  _ my violin _ \-- No stop it. 

 

When Angie came back and led us to two empty seats, i looked back at her and held up a note-  **Am I getting tested for a hearing implant?**

 

Angie didn’t even looked surprised. She nodded her head excitingly, and suddenly I had that same excitement in me.  _ Finally, I could hear again!  _ Might not be the same, but I’ll take that over hearing nothing but the sound of my own voice- which often times  _ terrified me.  _ There was nothing to shut it off, or drown it out, because I couldn’t hear my  _ viol- anything. _

 

_ But no more.  _

 

As soon as the doctor called my name (I recognized the way his lips shaped to pronounce the L and R in my name) I jumped up and almost ran to the room. My confidence was practically oozing from me. No more sign language, lip reading, note writing, none of it. I was going to get that implant. I never failed a test in my life, why would I start now?

 

_ I wasn’t going to get that implant. _

 

The most amazing yet horrific thing about the test was the doctor examining my ears and telling Angie and I that he could find nothing wrong with my ears. 

“It’s like they’re in perfect condition, but they just don’t perform they way they’re supposed to. This is a rare case.” I couldn’t hear anything on either of my ears- I was completely deaf.

 

Unfortunately, that’s what all of the other doctors we went to said as well. And I basically shut down after that.

 

A few  days later I’m sitting alone in my bed when the doorbell rings. I know because Penny jumps down from where she’s tucked into my side and sprints to the door. Angie opens the door slowly looking to see if she needs to gently tap on my shoulder to get my attention-  _ I hate that _ \- until she gets startled by me. I know it’s because of me; I’m a mess. I haven’t moved much from my bed. Reading is no longer fun, I don’t like the sound of my own voice in my head. I don’t want to watch tv, not hearing the recording of audience laughter or the cliche action movie music never felt more like a punch in the gut until now. I don’t even know where my violin is… I don’t want to.

 

While my mind wondered, Angie wrote a note which she now holds up to my face.  **Someone’s here to see you.**

 

I shake my head. Angie turns over the note. 

 

**It’s Ms.Kranzler. She really wants to see you.**

 

_ Ms. Kranzler?  _ I want to see her, but at the same time, I don’t want to be reminded of something that I lost. Angie sees my dilemma and starts to help me stand up. I shrug off her attempt, determined to stay where I am. Ms. Kranzler  doesn’t need to see me, she just pities me; I don’t want anything, especially anyone’s pity. 

 

Angie sighs and leaves. She comes back a little while later with a bouquet of purple flowers-  _ Anemones _ my mind supplies- and a card that she leaves on my bedside table. Knowing that my mood won’t allow me to be kind and take them off her hands. 

 

She leaves afterwards. Turns off light, because it’s dark outside and I have had a preference for it in the past few days. I sit, alone in my bed, with nothing but thoughts in head. And nothing to keep them quiet. All while the outside world goes on-  _ no one cares… you’re disabled. _

 

I’ve never felt so alone, miserable…  _ detached. _

  
  



	8. Depression

Angie left the house for the first time in four days to get groceries. I was downstairs this time, sitting at the island between the kitchen and the living room. I was pushing food around on my plate and somewhat forcing myself to eat when Penny jumped up from the spot she was sitting in to run, probably to the front door. That’s weird...she wasn’t barking…. That’s when I realized Penny wasn’t running- she was stalking towards the door. And the door wasn’t opening, it was being thumped on. Angie never struggled in opening the door- nor forget her key. “Someone might be behind you waiting to get in and attack,” she’d say. 

 

And right now someone was trying to do just that.

 

I grabbed a long baking pan and a knife then hid behind the armrest of the couch. The door was situated on the side of the living room so walking in you would see the living couch on the same horizontal plane as you facing the tv, and the kitchen island across the living room was perpendicular to you and separated the kitchen from the living room. The stairs were in the back of the living room. I remember a similar layout being shown in that tv show iCarly. 

 

The door lock clicks unlock. Whoever was here probably knew how to lock pick. The door slowly opens then Penny jumps up barking and wagging her tail at the same time.

 

_Huh?_

 

I pop out from behind the couch, shocking the person who was looking around-- _Damy!_

 

He smiles at me and I smile back- it seems like a lifetime since we saw eachother. Damy moves to hug me and I hug him back; which is saying something, since I hate hugs. He lets go and moves back, then as soon as his mouth opens it closes again. Understandably. I move away to grab a notepad and pen from a nearby table. Angie keeps them around the house to make conversation easier. I hand both to him with a fake smile. “It never gets easier”, I want to say, but I can’t. I haven’t spoken a word since.

 

Damy takes them warily, obviously not used to talking like this. He scribbles something quickly on the paper and holds it up to me, _The hearing aid tests are stupid._ It’s the nicest thing he could’ve said to me. I laugh at that and nod, then move to sit on the couch. He follows and continues writing. _Is there any other way to get hearing aids?_

 

I shrug, then think about it for a moment, and shake my head. I can’t think of any other way. Damy looks stricken, _Really? How are you gonna do Spring Fling then?_

 

At that I bat my hand like I was waving away a fly. To anyone else, the gesture may have been taken as an afterthought. But for me it didn’t just mean forget Spring Fling. It meant forget music. If I could, I’d forget the world existed. And unfortunately Damy understood that.  He looked at me as if I told him videogames are obsolete. I’ve might as well. He shakes his head at that, then mouths something… says it actually, until he realizes I can’t… make it out. He quickly scirbbles it on the notepad again, _You need to._

 

For some reason that irritates me. I’m tired of people telling me what to do, what to feel. The therapist tells me it’s alright to feel frustrated and I should use that frustration to _face my fears_ . The doctors and nurses telling me to _be postive. Angie telling me to meet Ms.Kranzler._  My stupid brain telling my ears to get used to this new quiet life…

 

“ _I DON”T WANT TO,”_ It’s the first time I yell. Let alone speak in a while. It feels good. Like breaking something without fearing the consequenes. I could feel the roughness in my throat after the yell and it’s like the burning in one’s legs after a good workout. I want to say it’s satisfaction.  But it’s not. Cause my eyes are watering and my hands are shaking. And the thought of not playing music again hits me full force-- the reality of it scares me. I think I hide it well though. 

 

Damy doesn’t think so. He looks at me as if I’m a stranger in need of pity. Then scribbles- no writes- something on the paper again. 

 

_Remember how my parents are into biotech?_

 

I remember. It’s constantly in the back of my head, like amosquito that buzzes in your ear and you swat it away, only to anticipate coming again. I nod my head at his question.

 

He writes slowly this time, crossing something out. He chooses his next words carefully.

 

_I remember them working on hearing_ _~~aids~~ _ _improvements a while back_

 

I only stare at the words, not daring to interpret them. Cause hope is for suckers. 

 

He writes again, slower. _Do you want to try them out?_

 

It’s a long shot. A long shot in the dark by an archer who’s blindfolded and on a unicycle. But it’s the only shot I have at hearing again. Playing _music._ Death could be waiting for me if I try Damy’s parents new tech. But I admit it; death isn’t scary to me anymore. Not when I cheated it. No, after you cheat death, then the thing that you fear most is what comes after. Surviving when there’s nothing left to live for. Music was the one thing that kept me sane. I can’t explain it. It’s like countless thoughts in my mind, swirling, swimming, and _thrumming_ in me. I can’t concentrate, let alone function like a normal human being if I didn’t have some reprive. Music did that for me. 

 

It could do that for me. Again. All I had to do was say yes.

 

_So I did._

  



	9. Not an update

So I’ve decided to revamp this entire thing. I don’t think I started it on the right foot, so I’ll be rewriting it. Just a heads up though, don’t expect it to happen fast...

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating every Monday, and I don't think I'll need breaks in between since I have the first few chapters done and the rest of the outlines for the other chapters and stories fleshed out. It'll get better, if you're not interested now.  
> Bye!


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